


i dont know what i wrote this for, only that i did

by thisisashittyusername



Category: No Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28363386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisashittyusername/pseuds/thisisashittyusername
Summary: i had a scenario in my head that i just wanted to write down
Kudos: 2





	i dont know what i wrote this for, only that i did

You sway slightly, overcompensating for the tilt you make on the first step. You narrowly miss your head on the wooden trellis. Your stomach grumbles at you, a little upset at the amount of alcohol you just drank blind at your block’s graduation party. Your mind knows you couldn’t exactly help it- it’s been too long since you’ve been outside all thanks to the quarantine- but your stomach growls again, nonetheless.

It’s when you hear it. The creak of the bed, a little gasp of “shit”. Even sloshed, you know what it means, and you stumble a little more silently onto the curving half-staircase. You nudge the door open, as carefully as you can, holding your breath as you peek in, and you can almost see it, even as your eyes try to adjust to the darkness- someone’s hulking form standing over your sheets, rifling through the elevated bookshelf for your _money stash_ or something.

Not that a college student was worth robbing.

As soon as you look, your mouth goes dry.

 _It’s Ren._ And nothing at all the way you imagined him to look like. He’s on the bed, yes, but he’s- he’s _touching_ himself. From what you can see, he’s stretched languidly on _your_ duvet, like he owns it, like he deserves to be there. His neck is extended artfully, his eyes are closed and his mouth a little parted. The only light in the room- the purple grow light, for the cacti beside your bed- casts wonderfully on his half-nude body, highlighting the sheen of his sweat, the curvature of his muscles, and the weeping head of his…

It takes you a while to realize you shouldn’t be looking. Even longer before you acknowledge the heat on your cheeks, and you dart back from the view with a chiding tone in your brain saying, “you filthy voyeur”.

You have to lean back in when another thought rings in your ear, and it feels more rational than the first- _that filthy exhibitionist_.

And Ren is, isn’t he? What is he even doing in your room, on your bed? He shifts again, angling his nose against your blanket before _inhaling_ in the deepest, fullest sound you can ever hear an inhale- and your first thought is that he shouldn’t, because it smells like you, and that would ruin his fantasy, wouldn’t it? You’re a little slow on the uptake- it isn’t until he sighs your name that you understand.

You watch with wide, curious eyes as he spasms, the fist around himself tightening. He groans, and you cannot possibly look away when he curls onto himself, bracing his feet against your mattress, his calves flexing, his other hand cupping the tip of his cock as he _shoots_ his shame into his palm.

He sighs your name again, before tucking himself in his underwear. He straightens out, stretching his great legs to their full length, again the vision of luxury. He suddenly looks so calm, so comfortable, and you can’t help but want to partake in that warmth, the want in your chest burning through you.

You burst into the room as loudly as you can, enjoying the way he jerks- this time bracing himself on his elbows to look at you. “I’m back,” you tell him, as if this was the most casual conversation you can ever have with him, despite the flush on his face, despite the sweat on his shirtless frame, despite the fingers he closes almost desperately protective around his come.

“Cool party,” you tell him again, face neutral, and you overplay your drunkness by ambling toward the bed in the most exaggerated way you can manage. He gasps a little when you lean in close, lying down face-first beside him. No doubt he’s panicking, trying to find a way to justify his presence, his _nakedness_ in your room, and god- his fear was delicious in its own right.

You look at him pointedly, for a long while, before landing your eyes deliberately on his closed hand. “What do you have there?” you say, and you could almost hear the uneven breath he makes between parted lips.

“Sabe,” he starts, in a pleading tone. You have no mercy for the tilt of his eyebrows or his shaking body, opting to press your fingers into his to _open his hand._

His hand opens easily. There is no resistance. Belatedly, you have to note- he was hiding liquid. If he balled his hand any tighter, his come would have leaked out the sides, or over his knuckles. You can’t help but swallow at the imagery, and he watches your throat bob for it.

“Sabe, I'm sorry,” he calls to you, a little more weakly this time, as if sensing how lost in thought you are. Your stomach starts to twist again- but not because of the alcohol anymore.

You lean curiously into his hand. He looks so afraid now, the pinnacle of fight-or-flight, and you can’t help the cruel smile that stretches your lips, just as you dart your tongue out to _lick._

A full shudder runs through his body as soon as your appendage comes in contact with his palm. You hum thoughtfully at the taste, before leaning more fully toward him to suck all of his come into your mouth. You appreciate its thickness in your mouth, the experience multiplied by the helpless look in his face when you eventually _swallow_.

You know what’s going through his mind, despite anything he’s said so far- or lack thereof. _You were drunk. You didn’t know what you were doing. You probably didn’t even know what you were swallowing._ But the truth is that- you aren’t even close enough to the kind of drunk where you don’t have control over yourself. And if anything, _you_ forced yourself on him.

You knew what you were doing. You knew what you were swallowing. And just to make sure you were on the same page, you smile at him, the most placating way you can. _I wanted this. I wanted you._ Instead you say, “you really should drink more pineapple juice”, enjoying the way he reddens even more under the purple light.

x

The next day feels like a mistake. You are no longer feeling the confidence alcohol had loaned you, and while you can recall every second of yesterday’s encounter, you can hardly handle the idea of going _out there_ into the _common area_ to _see him_ eye-to-eye.

Though your mind seems adamant to make you stay in your room, your stomach yet again has other plans. It churns once, before you jolt up and away into the bathroom. Safe with your face poised above the toilet, you let it all out.

Eventually, however, you have to come out. And when you do, every one of your roommates are there. Jane and Erik are eating cereal, animatedly arguing with Ren, who’s drinking a glass of something by the counter. You walk toward them, a little hungry yourself, and Jane- who you went to the party with- sympathetically hands you a ready-made bowl of cereal. You have to thank her for her forethought.

You try not to overthink the way Ren ignores you- or at least, the way you think he’s ignoring you. He hasn’t broken into embarrassed stuttering the entire time he was pontificating at Erik, nor has he even looked at you to acknowledge you. It hurts, and suddenly the night seems a lot bigger of a mistake than you thought.

You eat your cereal, trying to look at him from the corner of your eye- see any desperate tell that this wasn’t something you should regret- when your gaze catches on the juice carton beside his glass. _Pineapple juice._

The cereal and milk in your mouth burst forth with a vengeance, and you end up coughing violently into your inner elbow. Jane and Erik watch you, laughing the entire time- Jane at least had the mercy to hand you the hand towel to wipe yourself.

When you steel yourself enough to glance at Ren, you find him watching you as well, a cheeky smirk on his face, not without a reddened hue around the cheeks. “Forgot how to _swallow_?” he asks, and you can’t help the calmness that floods you when you laugh right back at him.


End file.
